Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Krakoa of Earth-616 wasn't his reality, but it still felt like home.

Which is to say, Krakoa felt like home. The rest of the world was all but completely alien to him.

Logan didn't know the details, but he did know that during an X-Men & Avengers joint op, the powers of the Scarlet Witch had mixed with the powers of Slipstream, one of the new kids on the team, and sent Logan tumbling through a warp-wave that landed him on a whole other Earth. 

That wouldn't have bothered him - wasn't the first time he'd wound up in another universe, wouldn't be the last - except for the walking cautionary tale that was this whole goddamn reality.

Mutants had had it worse than ever here. Legacy, Genosha, Decimation, the Purifiers, the Terrigen plague...shit, makes me fuckin' glad all we gotta worry about are Sentinels. The place was more insular than the school had ever been, mutants having practically embraced tribalism because of humanity's pure, raw hate. He saw every enemy the X-Men had ever had treated as an ally just because they were mutants...or at least, almost every enemy. No matter how hard he looked or sniffed, he didn't detect hide nor hair of Sabretooth. Guess even Mutant Paradise has some standards.

The Logan of this world had had a lot in common with him, and yet nothing in common. Most of the familiar bonds were there - Slim, the Elf, the Russkie, Blue, Rems, and everyone else - but there was a sterility to their friendship, an almost pathological reluctance to go past the platonic and into sexuality. Logan might almost have thought his other self to be straight, weird as that struck him...

...Except for his relationship with Scotty. Even though they used their shared love for Jeannie as an excuse, almost a crutch, to hide thre fact that they were into each other, they were clearly into each other. Logan could smell his other self's arousal spike whenever that Slim walked into a room. Of course, bringing it up had led to a scrap, and they'd had to be separated by that Jean and Emma Frost (who could scold the other Wolverine like no one's business, to Logan's unending amusement). But the feelings were there, no matter how much Mister Twenty-Four-Beers-A-Day protested.

Logan was glad he wasn't so deep in the closet as to use the women he loved as excuses to fuck the guys he loved. Wolvie should spend more time with his world's Herc, Logan had thought fondly.

When it had come time to go back home, that universe's Charles had given him two of Krakoa's magic flowers - 'should the need arise', he said. He wasn't clear on whose need he thought would arise. His world was safer than theirs, but he didn't know how well they'd take a spare copy of everyone from Apocalypse to Exodus to Fabian goddamn Cortez wandering in from that other Earth. A problem for the future, Logan thought, and hoped it was a future that never came.

~*~

After about fifty apologies from Slipstream, and fifty more from Wanda, Logan was finally alone with his flowers. One of them had been given to Storm right away, to be planted and grown in her greenhouse so that Hank and the other science geeks could study it. Logan had been told he could keep the other. He wasn't the best at houseplants, but he knew enough. Sunlight, water, nutrients in the dirt. You didn't spend almost a decade being housemates with Ororo Munroe and not learn the basics of gardening.

Logan kept it by the window - he'd made sure his rooms at the Institute always had a big window that he could look out, or jump out of if he needed to. It smelled great, looked nice, and gave his room just a little bit more of a natural touch, so it didn't completely look like a smoker's den.

Each week, like clockwork, he'd given the flower some water, some nutrients, and turned it so it was facing the sun. And everything was okay for several weeks.

~*~

Then one day, Logan fucked up, and he fucked up big.

If you'd asked Wolverine, after the fact, what had happened, he wouldn't have been able to tell you. But when he'd poured what he thought were plant nutrients into the flowerpot that morning, the flower's color darkened from magenta to a deep royal blue almost immediately. Logan was baffled for a moment, then looked down at the beaker in his hand, and saw the last few drops of Beast's pheromone extract sliding around the bottom.

Shit.

And then the scent of the new flower hit him.

The first hour was pretty much a blur. Logan remembered being hot, sweaty, and the feeling of air on his body as he tore out of his clothes being the most erotic thing he had ever felt. After that it was all growls, and writhing, and his fist being a blur on his cock, healing factor making up the difference for doing this a) unlubed and b) hard and fast enough that he'd have flayed the skin off of it if not for the pre that was oozing down his shaft like lava down the side of a volcano. He didn't remember the first orgasm, or the second, or third, only that the cum barely had time to land on his hairy chest or belly before he was swiping it up, eating it like ambrosia, sucking his fingers clean, and then going again, head so fogged with the blue flower's aroma that he could think of nothing else but masturbate, jerk off, get off, cum, do it again, ad infinitum.

The second hour was then things got fun. Eventually, his healing factor and super senses counterbalanced each other, and what was initially a powerful hit of mind-altering pheromones by way of alternate-universe magic flower bullshit became a regular aphrodisiac. Now he felt like he'd popped a Sildenafil, or watched a few hours' worth of porn without jacking off.

Now, it felt good.

Logan took off the rest of his clothes. Now completely naked, he could kick off this impromptu marathon jerk-off session properly. He was still feverishly horny, but now he could actually enjoy it instead of being a slave to it. He edged this time, stroking almost to the brink of orgasm, then pulling back, letting the near-cum feelings surge through him while he took deep hits of the flower's scent, its pollen wafting through the air like poppers. The whole room seemed to take on a bluish tinge, or maybe that was just the blood rushing out of his brain. Whatever the case, he actually felt it when he came this time, and his roar of completion made the windows rattle.

The third hour was where Logan got creative. Finally possessed of enough self-control to lock his door, he could set up his laptop and start playing porn - which in this case, meant certain security tapes from around the Xavier Institute. Random studs off the Internet were all well and good, but Logan lived with some of the hottest people on the planet, and because of the nature of his relationship with them, he got all the porn he could ever want, for free.

So he watched, and he stroked, and he groaned. It was now at the point where he was pretty much immune to the pollen; he could stop whenever he wanted. But that was the thing: he didn't want. Like a lusty snowball rolling down a mountain of base instinct, Logan's own desire had been picking up steam even as the flower's influence was waning, and now he was masturbating almost entirely under his own power.

The fourth, fifth, and sixth hours passed by in a blur of that bliss. What had been an imperative need-to-fuck-NOW urge was now simply a tang of spice added to Logan's own horniness cocktail. The porn and his own fantasies fueled him, he lost track of time, lost himself to the pleasure, and he loved every second of it.

In that sexual nirvana, Logan felt love for the one person whom he had denied almost his entire life: Logan actually loved himself.

~*~

Logan's eyes slid open and he looked at the clock. It had been eight hours since the feeding mistake.

The sunset was shining through his window, bathing everything in vivid, ruddy orange - except the flower, whose petals glowed almost defiantly blue. He was lucky it had been his day off.

But he couldn't lay in bed and jerk off forever. Even his teammates would frown on that; not least, because not inviting any of them would have been downright out of character for Logan. And while he was pretty sure he'd been immunized to the Krakoan flower's pollen by now, it wasn't a guarantee.

Gotta plant that thing somewhere else. Otherwise, who knows what'll happen if someone else gets hold of it? Especially someone else with super senses, like Hank or...?

He thought of Laura and blanched. What had been a fun (if indavertent) diversion for him would be like a violation to her, who had been used by others for every despicable means imaginable while she was unable to fight back. No. I ain't puttin' her through that. Not now. Not ever.

The flower which had brought him so much pleasure, he suddenly had an urge to destroy, to throw in a fire or into the lake, where it would burn, or drown, before it could hurt anyone he loved.

But...there was no need for that. Taking a deep breath - which, of course, got him another nose full of the plant's pheromones - he thought. He remembered his cabin, out on the grounds - with a basement insulated from the outside world, specifically for when he was entertaining 'guests'. He remembered the grow lights that Ororo kept in storage in case some of her more sensitive plants weren't getting the sunlight they needed.

I can do that. His face split into a broad grin. Matter o'fact, that works out perfect.

Sparing only the briefest of moments to dress for the cold, Logan took the flower in his hands, opened the window to his room, and vaulted out into the orange-purple twilight.

Chapter Text

No one remembered what the Mojoverse had been like before Mojo. All they knew was that waves of some unknown energy called "television" had seeped into the Mojoverse from across dimensions, Mojo had developed the technology to take advantage of that energy, and ever since then, it had been one long binge-watch for every denizen of Mojoworld.

Tonight was a typical late night broadcast in the Moijoverse. Infomercials hooked directly into the subconscious of the masses, reruns of old shows that had tested well maybe three or four years ago (which in TV Land, might as well have been a decade), game shows that served as public executions. While the Great Station Overlord slept, his subordinates worked tirelessly to keep Mojovision's viewers invested...or at least unable to touch that dial.

Then, one day, the worst happened: the feed cut out. Someone had hacked the most protected TV server in the universe. But instead of dead air, what greeted the 3 AM (aged-18+) demographic was a familiar face to any long-time viewers - which thanks to the nature of the Mojoverse, was anyone unlucky enough to be awake when the post-hypnotic command to watch hit.

~*~

Static filled the screen for a second, and then when it faded, a logo came in - a pair of eyes, one flashing like a star. Below it, the words: "LONGSHOT PIRACY, LTD." appeared.

After the logo faded to black, a scene appeared: A massive, circular leather bed, on which lounged a handsome blond man in black leather who flashed the camera a winsome, saucy smile.

"Evening, folks! I'm Longshot."

A second man, short but muscular, walked onscreen from stage left, wearing tight jeans and a tanktop that showed off his muscular, hairy arms. He puffed on a cigar with a smirk.

"An' I'm Logan."

"We interrupt your late-night Mojovision broadcast to send a message to everyone over the legal age limit."

Logan looked worriedly over at Longshot for a second. "An' yer sure kids ain't gonna see this?"

Longshot beamed. "The beauty of age-appropriate mental broadcast technology, my friend!"

The shorter man looked confused for a second, then nodded. "Ain't sure what that means, but I'm gonna trust you. Anyway..."

Without missing a beat, the blond man flashed another dazzling smile to the camera. "We have something special planned for you tonight! The very first episode of 'Calling Card'!"

Logan grinned a feral grin at the camera. "I ain't from around these parts, but way I've come t'know it over the years, everything you folks see an' hear comes from that greedy fucker, Mojo."

"That's right, Logan," Longshot said, beaming at the camera one more time before his expression turned newscaster-serious. "No one remembers how many seasons it's been since Mojo took over the airwaves, or what life was like here before he was put in charge. However..." And his right eye flashed tantalizingly. "...We here at Longshot Rebel Productions are putting forth the idea of life A.M...that is to say, After Mojo."

Logan smirked. "An' I'm down fer anything that gives power back to people who can't stick up fer themselves."

Longshot sidled closer to him. "This plan is three easy steps. Step One: Hack Mojo's signal and temporarily take over his station."

"Taken care of," Logan said, "with some help from my team back home." He puffed on his cigar. "I ain't namin' names."

"Step Two," Longshot continued, "is to get the idea of rebellion out into the world. You don't have to do what the television tells you. You don't have to do what Mojo tells you. This goes out to each and every denizen of the Mojoverse: you're your own person. An individual. And that's what scares powerful people like Mojo the most."

"Just the simple act of doin' what you want should give that corrupt asshole a fuckin' coronary," Logan added. "Take us: we're about to do somethin' we wanna do that Mojo could never even think of."

Longshot's smile returned, more seductive than ever. "Which brings us handily to Step Three: Shock the general public out of its mindset. Mojo tries to use violence to desensitize you all, but he can't even fathom demonstrations of genuine affection, love, or even desire."

"An' it just so happens," Logan said, running a hand down his chest and pulling his tanktop aside to reveal a muscular, hairy chest and nipple, "that I'm all about demonstratin' desire."

"How does it feel," Longshot asked, in an almost interviewer fashion, "knowing you're about to have sex with me in front of countless billions of adults, and also start a universe-wide mental rebellion?"

Logan gave the camera one last hungry look.

"Horny as fuck."

Then the two men grabbed each other in a passionate embrace and kissed deeply.

The broadcast contiued for roughly two more hours before Mojovision could reassert control over the airwaves. What transpired between Longshot and his guest-star Logan was something every adult denizen of the Mojoverse would remember for decades to come;

~*~

Chapter Text

Logan's eyes opened, and he smiled. This was exactly the sight he was expecting to see when they closed.

Namely, a large, silver-haired man next to him, early-morning sunlight glittering off the metallic prosthetics of his left arm and chest. One blue eye, and one shining gold, gazed at him with something resembling adoration - the most expression Logan had ever seen on that face.

"Morning," he said, his gruff, husky voice tinged with a warmth and tenderness completely at odds with his cybernetic, battle-hardened body.

"Mornin', Nathan," Logan replied. Then after a moment, he leaned over and kissed the bigger man. "Ya did it."

"You mean, I didn't do it."Cable blushed and looked out the window, averting his eyes. But he was smiling, a smile just like Scott's, on those rare occasions where Logan got to see it. "But thanks." He rolled over and got out of bed. "You want me to make breakfast? Bishop's been teaching me how to cook..."

"Maybe later." Logan was behind him, running his hands up and down that big body. What was it about taller guys? Maybe the fact that almost everyone was taller than him. He was glad of it regardless; it kept his options wide open. "Your ass in the mornin' looks like the best damn breakfast right now."

He saw Cable's back arch, almost automatically. "Fuuuuck..." the time-traveller breathed out, his scent a whole bouquet of yes-yes-yes to Logan's nose. "I knew we forgot something last night..."

Logan remembered, with a faint tinge of pride. Cable had mostly been on top, hitting all the right places in all the right ways. Logan wasn't sure if he'd been reading his mind or if it had been the experience from their last hookup, but either way, he'd done a textbook job, making the Canadian cum without touching himself.

Now it was Logan's turn. He grabbed Cable's sides, and with a twist of his hips and a grunt of effort, threw the bigger man back onto the bed. He landed on his back, legs up in the air, and before he had time to re-orient himself, Logan was kneeling between his legs, tongue diving into the soldier's hole eagerly.

As expected of a soldier - and a Summers, if Logan was being honest - Cable was clean as a whistle back there, tasting only of the sweat from the previous night and a natural, earthy richness that filled his enhanced senses. Under the metallic and gun-oil smell of the techno-organic parts, Nathan smelled like his father Scott, his grandfather Corsair, his uncle Alex...Logan wondered if you could develop a fetish for a whole-ass family line. If he were thinking straight, realizing he had a kink for the scent of the Summers men might have embarrassed him, especially given his contentious relationship with them all.

But then the Wolverine inside told him to shut up and enjoy the feast, and he listened.

Cable's moans filled the room - starting off reserved, deep, and gruff, but escalating in pitch and intensity as Logan kept rimming him. The sound of a man slowly coming undone from pleasure made Logan's balls tingle and his cock stand at attention, especially when that man was as uptight and contolled as...well, as a Summers.

"Yeah, Logan, fuck, God, please, yes, more, shit, damn, fuck, please, Logan..." The words just seemed to tumble from Nathan's mouth at random, a steadym rhythmic drip of encouragement that got more and more desperate the more he worked. It tempted the smaller man...he could cum from rimming Nathan while the time-traveller dirty talked with just a few strokes...but his dick had somewhere else to be.

Eventually, he crawled on top of the man, licking his way up his well-trained body until he hit Nathan's exposed, organic nipple. He licked and nibbled on it while two of his fingers got to work inside Cable, stretching and widening that tight, wet hole, the dual attentions keeping the bigger man enthusiastically voicing his consent.

Logan finally pulled off with a chuckle. "Fer someone who's so quiet most'a the time, you sure do seem ta like gettin' loud when someone touches ya just right."

Nathan blushed, and his mouth snapped shut...but Logan put a finger over his lips and winked. "Didn't say ya had ta stop, bub. Lookit what it's doin' ta me."

He stood over Nathan on the bed, aiming his hard-on at his face so he could see just how turned-on Logan was. In response, Nathan took Logan's fingers into his mouth and started to suck, his cybernetic eye glowing a deep amber with hunger.

Logan smirked. "Ya ready for it, Summers?"

Cable nodded, letting out a moan around Logan's fingers so desperate it was almost a whine. It made Logan spurt precum all over the bigger man's torso.

Logan licked his lips and positioned himself. "Want me t'fuck ya?" A memory came to him...something he'd heard Nathan say one of their previous flings. "...breed ya?"

"FUCK teah!" Cable let go of Logan's fingers long enough to cry it out. "Breed me raw, Logan, fill me up! Knock me up with that wild-man seed! I fuckin' need it!"

So, Logan realized, did he.

His cock sank into Nathan's willing ass with a cry of completion. Almost before the time-traveler could acclimatize, Logan's hips were bucking helplessly, fucking with abandon. His growls and yells of pleasure mingled with Cable's in a symphony of carnal delight.

All too soon, Logan felt that surge inside his balls. He slammed into Nathan's beefy ass one last time, and shot, seeding him deep, making the soldier's dick twitch and spurt, untouched, all over his chest and belly. The world went white, stars exploding behind both men's eyes as they reveled in each other's pleasure...

...and this time, it was a pleasure they were both sure that they'd remember.

~FIN~

Chapter Text

Snarl.

SNIKT.

Lunge.

Stab.

Scream!

Next.

Snarl. Lunge. Stab. Scream! Next.

Snarl. Lunge. Stab. Scream! Next. Snarl. Lunge. Stab. Scream! Next. Snarl. Lunge...

"STAND DOWN, WOLVERINE!"

At Storm's sharply-barked order, Wolverine shook himself and looked down. He didn't recognize the blond kid looking up at him, though his coarse hair, squarish features, and mutton-chops looked almost triggeringly familiar.

Creed...? He felt the growl welling up in his throat again. Then the stranger spoke.

"Dad, it's me! It's Jimmy!"

Jimmy...

The kid didn't smell like Sabretooth. He smelled like...

~*~

A guy who looked just like him -- but blond -- stumbling through a portal onto the Institute grounds. The bone claws that had sprouted from his knuckles, which were immediately coated in a golden metallic sheen that was unmistakable. Adamantite, the God-metal. But the only way for that to happen would have been...

A quick conversation and a psi-scan confirmed it. The stranger's name was Jimmy Panhellenikos-Logan, and he was the son of his universe's Wolverine and Hercules. Although he was an ordinary mutant, the metal coating his bones was magical, a gift from his Olympian relatives. He'd been trained by both his parents, who loved him dearly, whom he loved in turn. When he came of age, he'd joined the X-Men of his world...

...Just in time for Operation: Zero Tolerance to wipe nearly all of them out.

~*~

The memory made Logan flinch back and cry out as he struggled to regain control of himself.

Looking around, he remembered where they were: Breakstone Lake, on the edge of the Xavier Instittue grounds. Less than a mile away was the cabin he'd built for privacy...and company. Two miles away, the school itself - Logan could just barely see the belltower behind a row of pines.

He saw the bodies of Prime Sentinels - humans whose bodies and minds had been completely overridden with Sentinel nanotechnology - littering the ground, and at the end of the trail of corpses...

Jimmy flinched as he sat up. He was covered in scrapes, cuts, and bruises that hadn't healed yet. Why ain't they healed yet?

Ororo jabbed the comm badge on her chest. "Forge, what is the status on that anti-neutralizer?" she asked the air around her, seemingly convinced Logan wasn't about to murder his own kid anymore.

Anti-neutralizer? Then it hit Logan that his hands were bleeding, and Rogue and Nightcrawler were running up to join them.

Running.

Not flying, not teleporting.

Aw, hell.

A holographic image appeared in front of the assembled X-Men - Forge, his headband askew, looking battle-singed but mostly none the worse for wear. "Almost ready. We're lucky I was outside the field radius, it seems that neutralization remains active well after the Prime Sentinel die...er, stops functioning. I'll send the package via air-drop in three."

"Acknowledged," Storm said. Then the weather goddess turned to her friend. "Logan..."

Ororo put a hand on his shoulder, and Logan shuddered, trying not to flinch. "It is over," she said, her voice level and calm. "We have won, and they are gone...may the poor souls trapped within find their way to the Goddess' embrace." She looked away for a minute, and Logan felt guilt wrack him. Ororo hated seeing people enslaved or deprived of their free will in any way, but she valued life so highly...

And I just committed mass murder in front'a her.

He got up and slunk away, retreating to beneath a nearby tree.

"Dad..." Jimmy started, but Kurt put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. Logan didn't look back, but he didn't have to. Stay away from the crazy berserker man, kid, Don't matter if he's yer own flesh 'n blood, alternate world or not. Till he cools down, yer in danger. Yer all in danger.

"Logan." Ororo's voice was clear and hard, but not unkind. He glared over at her with a scowl that would have cowed anyone...or at least anyone who wasn't her or Herc.

She remained unbothered. "You did what had to be done. No psychic could free their minds -- both Emma and Jean tried their hardest -- nor any physician undo the damage done to their bodies."

Logan wondered if Storm was trying to convince him or herself. But even with his senses dulled, he knew the scents of his friends, his family. Ororo smelled like allspice, petrichor...and more than that, certainty. She believed every word she said. She didn't blame him for this.

But Jimmy...

Logan looked over to his son - the word felt funny in his mind. Akihiro was his kid, sure, but that relationship was never not gonna feel antagonistic. Laura was fiercely independent, like Kitty, or Jubilee, or Armor. They were close, sure, but she never looked at him like a father.

But Jimmy...

~*~

"Dad!"

Jimmy had rushed over to Logan before the older man could speak, flinging his arms around him.

"Thank Athena, you're okay! Pop and I looked for you everywhere! We saw that Sentinel shoot you through the chest, and..." He trailed off, putting a hand over Logan's sternum as realization dawned on him. To Logan, it looked like a kid watching his family home burn down on Christmas Eve.

"...oh. You're not him." His voice felt so flat and so dead, it broke Logans heart.

He withdrew so fast Logan didn't have time to respond, huddling up on his bed with a furious blush and wet eyes. "Sorry...you must be this world's version of my da--uh, Wolverine."

"Yup." Logan started to light his cigar, trying to play it nonchalant, but the quiet sniffling coming from the corner of the bed hurt him more than any full-throated bawling would have. He sat on the bed next to the huddled young man, trying to decide what to do.

Want a smoke? Let's go grab a beer, I bet we can find a good scrap, getcha laid... All of Logan's usual coping mechanisms fell apart when faced with this young man. Was he even legal? He looked old enough to do all that...but how weird would it be to go drinking with your old man? Logan not being the Wolverine who raised Jimmy didn't help - in fact, it made things worse.

So he swallowed, inhaled through his nostrils, and did the hardest thing - the only thing - that he was able to do.

"Wanna talk about it?"

~*~

The drone hovered in the air, a shower of greenish light falling on the team like particles of pixie dust. Forge was a magic-user, as well as an inventor...for all Logan knew, it could be both. Either way, he felt himself healing even as he saw the wounds and scratches close on Jimmy's skin.

"Sorry, kid." he said at last. He was still a good distance away from Jimmy, who was leaning back against a wall, staring down at the defunct -- dead -- Prime Sentinels.

Jimmy looked up. He seemed genuinely confused. "For what?"

Logan popped his claws, baffled he even had to explain. Jimmy started for a minute, then finally let out an "Ohh!" of realization.

Then he laughed. He laughed?

"That was nothing," Jimmy said. "Back home, Dad and Pop used to get super serious about their sparring matches. You did not want to be the one to try to break them up, even for dinner!" He smiled, almost fondly. "Dad had it especially bad. But he always stopped himself before hurting me...and even if he didn't, Papa did." He looked over to Logan. "And so did you."

Logan felt conflicted, confused. "But...that was just 'cause a' 'Roro..."

"Doesn't matter," Jimmy said. "You still stopped. I'm okay. And my healing factor's back, so even the bruises from the scrap are fading." He touched his forehead where a gash had stained his skin red. Wiping away the blood, there was only a thin pink scar, and even that was disappearing before Logan's eyes. Just like mine...

Logan looked away, biting his lip. "I just...last thing I remember was those Prime Sentinel dirtbags gangin' up on ya. Then I started seein' red, and got crazy-mad...they were hurtin' you, hurtin' my boy..." He stopped himself. "...sorry. I know I ain't yer dad."

"Really?" Jimmy gave Logan a smirk that reminded him of his own. " 'Cause just now, you sounded an awful lot like him."

"And you did save young James, Logan," Storm said from behind him. He felt, rather than saw, the clouds gather above them, and the first few drops of a warm tropical rain fall on upstate New York. The rainfall was warm, cleansing. It seemed to soothe him, even as he heard Rogue and Nightcrawler laughing in the distance while they played tag with their newly-restored powers. Kurt caught his eye briefly, and smiled...only to let out a whuunnf! as his foster sister tackled him in mid-air and dove head-first with him into Breakstone Lake. Nightcrawler was able to teleport out...but he was a sodden, bedraggled mess, looking like nothing so much as a wet indigo cat.

Logan, Jimmy, and Ororo shared a laugh at the sight, and Logan felt the weight and guilt slide off his shoulders.

"Forge and Henry will take the bodies in for study, " Storm said, once the moment passed. "with Rogue's and Nightcrawler's assistance. I shall file the incident report to the best of my ability. You know how Cyclops gets when the paperwork is improper." She and Logan shared a smirk, as though they were gossiping about a stuffy older brother...even if he was one Logan was now sleeping with regularly.

"And you...shall take James to Salem Center and unwind. The day is yours until sundown."

Logan looked over at Jimmy, then back at Storm, brow creasing. "Ya sure?"

Ororo gave him a knowing look. "How long have we been family, Logan? We both know that if you do not take some downtime now, you shall end up isolating yourself, hogging the Danger Room for hours and destroying Goddess knows how many training robots while James is left to his own devices. My way is less destructive..." she smiled sharply. "...and better for your relationship to your son."

Logan wanted to protest, but then he looked at Jimmy's face...those familiar features carrying a hopefulness and excitement that Logan himself could only remember feeling when he first fell in love with Hercules. Then he saw Ororo, who was smiling, but her eyes were glowing a brilliant white, sparking with electricity. Arguing the point with her would cause more problems than it solved.

And...he admitted it...he did want to hit the town with Jimmy.

Admitting defeat, he got to his feet. "I'll change into my civvies at the cabin and get my bike. You know how to ride, kid?"

Jimmy beamed. "Sure do! I was going for rides with Dad on his bike before I could walk!"

Logan rarely let anyone else share his motorcycle with him. Fatherhood really did change ya, huh? he mentally asked his other self. He wasn't expecting a reply, so the warm glow of affection welling up in him had to be his own.

"Okay," he finally said. scrubbing the grime of battle off his face so no one could see him cry. "Then I guess we got a plan."

The skies cleared above them, the late afternoon sunshine dyeing everything a deep, rich gold.

Maybe lettin' someone else call the shots ain't always so bad.

~FIN~

Chapter Text

"YOU LOSE."

"Given your rep, I would have expected more of a fight!"

Ryu stared at the ceiling as the pre-recorded win message played. The X-Man Cyclops stood over him with a worried look on...well, half his face. Ryu had never seen the man's eyes.

"You all right there, Ryu?"

Ryu raised an arm and gave a thumbs up and a self-deprecating grin. Cyclops helped him to his feet, and Ryu saw him glare at the announcement screen where the victory fanfare was playing. "That's terrible sportsmanship. If I'd known this would be used to rub it into our friends' faces, not just our foes, I would have..."

Ryu laughed as he rubbed his bruised chest. "This? This is actually better than how it used to be. Back when I first started the circuit we only got to record one message...and I forgot what Shoryuken meant in English, so I used the Chinese term for it: 'Sheng Long'." He chuckled. "The fans spent years trying to figure out who the mysterious warrior 'Sheng Long' was before I finally got to re-record the line."

The X-Man laughed...and then a soft laugh came from beside him, and Ryu perked up. He didn't even know Storm COULD laugh, but she was smiling, clearly amused by the story. "Sorry," she said at length. "English is not my first language either. I was taught to speak it telepathically, but I can relate to the struggle."

Ryu smiled back. "I've made you laugh, Storm, and I learned a lot from today's bout. To me, that counts as a win." He looked towards the arena door. "You two had better get going. I believe Cammy and Sean are your next opponents, and they aren't known for their patience."

One last handshake and respectful bow later, and the X-Men were headed off the battle stage.

"We lost."

The deep voice behind him startled him, and Ryu looked up, and up, to where his tag partner Sagat had regained consciousness and gotten back to his feet.

Ryu nodded. "I'm afraid so."

Sagat's stony expression didn't change. "And you accepted this outcome?"

Ryu nodded again. "It was a fair fight. They followed the tournament's rules of engagement, just like we did. And besides, I learned a lot from watching them fight."

Then, and only then, did Sagat's expression crack. He gave the younger warrior the smallest of smiles. "You've grown a great deal since we first met, Ryu. I am proud to have fought alongside you."

Ryu returned the smile, and clasped hands with the Muay Thai King. "Likewise, Sagat. We make a surprisingly good team. I look forward to being able to do this again."

Sagat chuckled as well, the first time Ryu had ever heard him laugh non-maliciously. "Perhaps one day we shall. Until we meet again, Ryu."

Then he was gone, and Ryu was alone. His part in the tournament was over, but he felt strangely at peace with it.

~*~

"Hey man," Ken greeted Ryu as he walked into their shared hotel room. Then the American winced, putting a hand to his temple.

Ryu looked up. "You don't usually get migraines...are you all right?"

"Yeah..." Ken exhaled, lying back on the bed. "I was paired up with Zangief against the Iceman and that psychic ninja lady...fuck, what's her name?"

"Psylocke?" Ryu hazarded a guess.

"Yep, her. She used the walking popsicle as a distraction, then stuck that glowy knife of hers into my brain a few dozen times before kicking me to the ground." Ken winced. "Haven't seen my health bar go down that fast since the Shadaloo tournament."

Ryu's eyebrows shot up. "And Zangief?"

"Last I saw they were still thawing him out of an ice coccoon," Ken grumbled. "They say he'll be okay, though. He trains in Siberia wearing only that red Speedo of his."

Ryu chuckled softly, then a knock came at their door. Ken groaned and tried to bury his head beneath a pillow. Ryu opened the door and was greeted with an envelope simply marked 'Ryu & Ken'.

"Condolences on our losses already?" Ryu blinks. "It surprises me how fast word travels these days."

"I'm surprised they used snail mail," came Ken's muffled voice. "You read it."

"It smells like cigarettes," Ryu muttered, then he read aloud:

Shoto Boys,

Come to the Top Tier Lounge. There's a surprise there waiting for you in Suite 1975.

~W.

"Where is this lounge?" Ryu asked Ken...or the pile of bedding that was currently cocooning him.

"It's a club by the venue," Ken said. "High-class hangout for fighters. Black-tie kinda place, unless you're in a tournament, then it's come-as-you-are."

"Hmm." Ryu said briefly. "I wonder why he wants to meet us there."

"You go," Ken groaned. "I'll catch up once the migraine meds kick in."

Ryu patted his friend's shoulder sympathetically...at least he hoped it was his shoulder, the bedding made it difficult to tell...and left the room, cinching his headband around his head.

~*~

Ryu wasn't the best with smart phones, but the one Ken had insisted on giving him did give him directions he could follow to get to the lounge on foot.

It wasn't hard to figure out who 'W' was...there were only two fighters in the roster with that initial, and only one of them smoked. But he had no idea what Wolverine could want with him, other than a rematch. What 'surprise' could the Canadian possibly have for him?

The Top Tier Lounge was everything Ken had told him, and nothing like Ryu expected. A cruise liner, the M.V. Starstruck, floated on the docks, its deck lit up with lights and the sign 'TOP TIER LOUNGE' flashing in neon above the ship's gangplank.

On deck, after Ryu presented his identification and tournament invite, the place was decorated to the nines. A jazz band was playing a slow, soft song simply titled 'Goodbye', and men and women in suits, ties, and gowns were dancing to it. Ryu recognized some of his fellow Street Fighters, and even some X-Men in the crowd, drinking, dancing, and socializing. He didn't want to bother any of them, so he simply proceeded to the hatch that led into the ship.

Despite the halls below decks looking mostly the same, Ryu had been in enough hotels that he could navigate them fairly easily, even on the water. It didn't take long to find Suite 1975.

What he found inside, however, his mind had a far more difficult time wrapping itaelf around.

Wolverine was sprawled on the bed, nude, with a huge, naked man standing over him, grunting passionately as his hips bucked wildly. Just as the door closed behind Ryu, the man let out a grunt of pleasure and his hips surged forward, buttocks clenching as he...

Ryu shook his head, unclear on what he was seeing. What had he walked into?

The big man climbed off Wolverine's hairy body, and Ryu did a double take. Alex, the wrestler from New York, gave the Shotokan fighter a curt nod as he picked up his clothes and walked out the door. Wolverine looked up and grinned. "Ryu! Ya made it." Then his head sagged back, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. "Gimme a sec; that big fucker really took the wind outta me. But I'll be good ta go again in just a sec."

"Good to..." Ryu tilted his head. "Wolverine...are you sleeping with everyone in the tournament?"

"Call me Logan." Wolverine...Logan...chuckled as he grabbed a cloth to wipe the sweat from his hairy body. "And not everyone...Me, Sabretooth, an' Omega Red still hate each other's guts too much ta fuck, an' that Vega punk is a vain, prissy bitch." He smirked. "Besides, I'm better with my claws than he could ever be with his, and the guy can't fuckin' stand that."

"Understandable." Ryu conceded. "But...everyone else...?" 

"Every other guy who wants some, yeah." Logan leaned back on the bed, folding his hands behind his head, completely at ease in his absolute nudity. Ryu swallowed as he felt something stir inside him while Logan spoke. "Me an' Ororo...Storm...have a special arrangement. Other girls are off limits, but I can get with as many guys as I want, just like she can get with whatever girls she likes." He popped the tab of a can of beer - a Canadian brand, one that Ryu knew Luke loved - and drained it in a single gulp. "Bein' pansexual has its advantages."

"I wouldn't know." Ryu admitted. "I've only ever liked..."

Logan's face fell. "Aw, shit. Sorry man, I didn't know you were straight. I shoulda been clearer when I sent the card what I wanted."

Ryu raised a bushy eyebrow, a smirk on his bearded lip. "I was going to say 'men'." he interjected.

Logan visibly brightened at the martial artist's admission. "Well now..." His cock got hard between his legs again. "Mr. Street Fighter himself, the grand champion, is an all-in homo. Ain't that somethin'."

"It's not something I advertise," Ryu went on, "because so much of the world, even in the tournament ring, still isn't ready to accept it. I'm a good fighter, but there's a difference between fighting someone and people trying to actively kill you. But Ken knows. So do Guile, Chun-Li, and a few of my other close friends." He chuckled. "And Zangief, because he felt me get hard during one of his bear hugs."

"Hot." Logan said, stroking his cock lazily at the thought. "I wouldn't mind a big ol' bear hug from that sexy Russian bear myself. Petey an' me...that's Colossus, the metal guy...hug all the time when he's human, but he's pretty smooth for a Russkie, an' I'm curious what it'd be like to grind up against someone who's as hairy as me."

Russkie? Ryu thought. How old was Logan, that he could say something so outdated with a straight face? But the fantasy he planted, and him being so free and uninhibited, made his cultural insensitivity seem somehow quaint. "So..." he said after a pause. "...how does...this...work?" He gestured to Logan, and to himself.

"What, the worst-kept secret in the tournament?" Logan grins. "Simple. You get naked, an' we do whatever feels good t'gether. Lots of the guys here just like havin' a warm hole to shoot their load in, or a hard cock up their asses. I'm vers, I can make it real good for ya either way. So..." He spread his legs, naked body on full display. "...how do ya want the Wolverine tonight?"

"Hmm..." Ryu thought for a moment...but only a moment, as his gi pants and kasaya tumbled to the ground seemingly of their own accord, leaving his musuclar body completely nude. "There are so many possibilities...Why don't we explore them together?"

Logan's chest seemed to rumble in pleasure at Ryu's suggestion. "I got nowhere to be," he growled as Ryu approached the bed. "Let's have some fun."

Neither of them would speak about what happened that night, nor did anyone Wolverine was with at the end of the tournament. But the thrill of having an open secret was almost as much fun as the secret itself.

Almost.

~FIN~